


even as a shadow, even as a dream

by Quintessence



Series: bad things happen bingo requests [6]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Delirium, Fever, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Fic, Touch-Starved, god looking at these tags it's so on brand it hurts, killua's unhappy childhood, shower killua in love 2kforever, zoldyck family dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessence/pseuds/Quintessence
Summary: "What could Killua possibly have done to earn this, to be taken care of with such kindness and affection?  He’s never had this before, not in all his life. No one’s ever brought him water and a cool towel. No one’s ever stroked his hair when he was ill or in pain.  No one’s ever sat beside him and spoken to him softly and watched over him so he wasn’t alone. Whatever Killua’s done to deserve this, he’ll make sure he does it again.  As many times as he can, whatever the cost. He’ll earn this again."Killua becomes delirious with a high fever, but he isn't subjected to the usual pain and cruelty at the hands of his family.  Instead, someone else is here, someone who is very kind and very gentle and very unlike anyone Killua has ever met.For the request "Killugon + hiding an illness"
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Series: bad things happen bingo requests [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653457
Comments: 86
Kudos: 1079





	even as a shadow, even as a dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sub_divided](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_divided/gifts).



> hello!!!!!!
> 
> okay first of all i am very sorry for absolutely SPAMMING you all w updates lately but you know how dogs get all that pent up energy & then get the zoomies? yeah, it's just like that except instead of running around the house i let it out by writing absurdly self indulgent fanfiction.
> 
> many thanks to the lovely, lovely subdee for this incredibly awesome & on-brand request!!!!! i really really hope you like it!!!!
> 
> title is from anne carson's translation of herakles bc that's just who i am.
> 
> **warning that this fic heavily implies/references (but in no way graphically depicts) standard zoldyck family violence & mistreatment. it also involves a vivid depiction of illness, which, given the time of its publishing (april 2020), may not be everyone's cup of tea **
> 
> alrighty, enjoy my friends!!!

Killua wakes in the thick, hot haze of delirium. 

It’s as if he’s crushed beneath a massive boulder. His body is weak and impossibly heavy, and simply opening his eyes makes the room spin dangerously around him. The air is far too hot, and yet he’s somehow shivering despite it. Something sharp and painful pounds in a steady rhythm just behind his eyes. His thoughts are slow and far away, disjointed in the manner of a particularly vivid dream.

He’s sick. Despite the haze, that thought comes through shockingly clear. He’s very, very sick.

The nature of the sickness is unimportant--whether he’s been poisoned again, or he’s been kept awake and without food and water for days on end, or he’s simply come down with the flu. None of that matters much. The only thing that matters anymore is lying here, as quiet and still as he can manage, so as not to attract too much attention.

Sickness in the Zoldyck household is an especially unpleasant thing. Sometimes Killua will be forced to train when he’s ill--run and dodge and hide and fight--until at last he finally faints, just so that he learns how to push beyond his body’s limits. Or if it’s poison, they might keep feeding him doses. If he hasn’t built up his immunity to this specific toxin, they’ll be sure he does by the time they’re through with him. Only once he’s totally unaffected, totally without any symptoms or side effects, will they finally relent. So regardless of what’s wrong, it’ll be best if he’s ignored. That’s the most Killua can hope for. Indifference. He prays that his family remains indifferent to him, simply lets him lie in bed and wait it out alone. Just being left alone--that would be a rare, precious blessing.

So while the pain behind his eyes mounts, drawing closer and closer to unadulterated agony, and his body begins to sweat and ache with renewed intensity and the whole world tilts and warps around him, he lies perfectly still and silent. He won’t whimper or writhe, however much he wants to. If he’s very, very lucky, he’ll be forgotten about until this illness, whatever it is, has passed.

Killua calls upon his training, relaxing his body and taking slow breaths. He focuses on nothing more than the rise and fall of his chest, shallow and labored though it may be. It’s the best way to endure, losing himself in nothing more than his breathing. Even and slow as he can make it. No one’s come in yet, which is something, at least. He’s been left alone for a blissful few minutes. He must be doing something right, lying still and quiet. He must have managed to escape their notice somehow.

Killua loses track of time. He doesn’t know if he sleeps, doesn’t know where he is, or when he is. His mind seems to wade through thick mud, moving slowly, getting stuck. He isn’t sure of much right now, beyond the need to stay quiet. Every other thought and memory seems to float away, just out of reach when he tries to grasp it, but that much is clear He has to stay quiet. As he gets dizzier and weaker and the pain builds and builds, he clings to that. Just stay still. Just stay quiet.

But of course--because any respite is merely temporary, because Killua really should have learned this by now-- _ of course _ the door eventually does open, slowly and hesitantly, with just the slightest squeaking of a hinge.

Killua’s chest and stomach go abruptly cold and hollow in the worst way.

Please, he’s sorry. He tried so hard not to draw any attention to himself. He tried so hard not to bother anyone. Please, he prays, let this person think that he’s asleep, that it would be too much trouble to wake him and drag him out of bed. He’s so weak and ill and he hurts so badly; he couldn’t bear any more pain or cruelty in this state. Please, just let them leave him be. Please.

“Killua?” someone says.

Despite the frantic pounding of his heart, the mounting terror at being discovered, Killua finds that he likes that voice. He doesn’t know whose it is, but it sounds gentle and bright and warm. Is it one of his family members? It has to be, surely. But he can’t ever recall any of them sounding so comforting and kind.

“Oh, you look awful,” this person says softly. There’s the sound of him approaching the bed and Killua flinches in spite of himself. Please, not now. He can’t take anything more, not as he is now. He’ll do whatever they ask later, however cruel and bloody and agonizing, if they just give him an hour’s rest now.

“How are you feeling?” this person asks.

Gathering every bit of strength he can muster, Killua responds.

“‘M fine,” he murmurs.

That’s the right answer, isn’t it? If he’s fine, they’ll go easier on him, won’t they? He did well, didn’t he? Please, say that he did.

“No, you’re absolutely not fine. Killua, you should’ve said something.”

While he knows something awful is coming, knows that no good can come of being discovered, Killua can’t help but like the way this person says his name. It sounds far fonder and kinder than anyone’s ever said it before. He’d very much like for this person to continue to say it, with that particular tender, gentle tone.

The person places a hand on Killua’s forehead and Killua takes a sharp breath. This is it then, whatever cruelty they plan to inflict on him. This is the moment it comes, the pain or the poison or whatever they’ve decided on today. Killua clenches his jaw and prepares himself to endure. As silently and motionlessly as he can. Just endure.

But this person doesn’t hurt him. He merely places the back of his hand against Killua’s skin and it’s actually… somewhat pleasant. The hand is cool and soft and the pressure isn’t overwhelming and it’s so strangely nice. Killua can’t recall the last time someone touched him and it was anything but painful.

“Your fever is out of control,” the voice says softly. “We’ve gotta get that down somehow. Okay?”

“‘M fine,” Killua mumbles again. Although this person has touched him kindly and says his name so gently, Killua can’t allow himself to relax. The moment he lets his guard down is when they’ll strike. Surely this is a test. And he’s going to pass.

“No, you’re not,” the voice says. “Here, I got you some medicine and a cool rag. Can you sit up and swallow these for me?”

Swallow? Killua’s heart plunges deep into his stomach, so fast it almost makes him sick. No, please, this is what he had feared. He doesn’t want more poison, more of whatever must be making him so ill. He already feels so wretched--he can’t take any more of whatever this is. Surely any more would kill him.

“No,” Killua says.

“Killua, now’s really not the time for you to try to act tough,” the voice says. It sounds exasperated, but there’s a fondness to it that takes Killua by surprise. “You’ve gotta take these. Your fever can’t get any higher or it’ll start to get really dangerous. Can you please just prop yourself up a bit and swallow these?”

“Please,” Killua slurs. “Please. Don’ wan’ anymore.”

The person sighs.

“No, you need to take these. Okay? You have to. It’s that or you’re gonna end up in the hospital.”

“Please. Don’ wanna feel worse. Please.”

There’s suddenly a hand in Killua’s hair, gently stroking it, fingers light and slow and delicate.

Oh, that’s so  _ nice _ . That feels so good, so pleasant and comforting and soothing. Killua can’t help but sigh. He likes being touched so kindly. It makes him feel better, better than seems possible. The pain ebbs and the dizziness lessens and the warmth is suddenly not nearly so unbearable. He’d very much like this person to keep touching him kindly, keep stroking his hair like this.

“No, these won’t make you feel worse. I promise. They’ll make you feel better. Please, Killua, will you just sit up and take these for me? You can lie right back down, okay? Can you do that for me?”

There’s his name again, so gentle and fond. Combined with the hand in his hair, it’s the best feeling Killua can remember. He feels like he’s floating, so light and relaxed and happy and at ease. He’ll do it then. He’ll take whatever this person asks him to, all if it’ll just keep him stroking Killua’s hair and saying his name like that. Even if it’s poison, even if it leaves him feeling worse than before, it would be a fair trade. More than fair. He’ll suffer whatever’s needed to keep being treated so kindly.

With tremendous effort, Killua props himself up so that he’s sitting upright enough to swallow. This person places a few pills in Killua’s hand, and Killua puts them in his mouth.

“Here, swallow,” this person says, holding a glass of water to Killua’s mouth. He tilts it slightly and Killua swallows. The water is nice, cool and soothing, but sitting upright makes the room spin worse, so Killua sinks back down into bed, resting his head on the pillow.

This person brushes Killua’s hair back from his forehead and Killua sighs. It’s worth it now, even if the pills were poison, to be touched like this just once.

“Here, this’ll help too,” the voice says, and places something wet and cool on Killua’s forehead. He’s right, whoever he is. The cool rag helps with the pounding of his head and lessens some of the overwhelming heat in his body.

And then this person places his hand back in Killua’s hair and begins combing through it again and Killua simply can’t ever recall a time he felt so perfect, so impossibly safe and cared for. This hand in his hair is so tender and gentle and then the voice starts to hum, something soft and slow, and Killua can hardly stand it. The cool rag and the stroking through his hair and the soft humming--put together it’s almost too much. The contentment is overwhelming, so overwhelming that Killua hardly notices the pain or the discomfort. This is bliss. He wouldn’t mind being poisoned again, and again, as much as they’d like, if only he could be taken care of like this every time.

“Killua,” the voice says, and it sounds so heartbroken. “I’d never poison you.”

Oh, had Killua said that aloud?

“You think you’re with your family, huh?” the voice says softly. “That makes sense, I guess. Would explain how you were with the medicine. They must’ve done this to you a lot, right? Made you sick and hurt on purpose.”

“‘S okay,” Killua murmurs, because he doesn’t want this kind voice to sound sad.

“Your fever is probably high enough to make you delirious. And when you get like that, your mind tends to go to frightening, unpleasant things. I’ve seen it happen before. So that makes sense, that you’d think you were back there, with them.”

The hand comes down to stroke over Killua’s face. It caresses his forehead and skims across his cheek and rubs so gently just beneath his eye.

What could Killua possibly have done to earn this, to be taken care of with such kindness and affection? He’s never had this before, not in all his life. No one’s ever brought him water and a cool towel. No one’s ever stroked his hair when he was ill or in pain. No one’s ever sat beside him and spoken to him softly and watched over him so he wasn’t alone. Whatever Killua’s done to deserve this, he’ll make sure he does it again. As many times as he can, whatever the cost. He’ll earn this again.

“I don’t know how much you can understand, or even hear, really, but it’s different now. You’re not with your family anymore. You’re somewhere else. With different people. And these people, they don’t hurt you. Not ever. And when something bad happens to you, they look after you until you’re better. Because they care about you, Killua. They care about you so much.”

A memory floats hazily just outside of Killua’s periphery. It’s like trying to recall a forgotten dream. It sounds familiar somehow, but he can’t remember anything concrete. These people who don’t hurt him, this kind one stroking his face, could they possibly be real? It seems unlikely. If Killua were treated like this every day, if every day he heard his name said how it sounds now, he surely wouldn’t survive it. He’d burst, somehow, from the joy and contentment; there’d be far too much for his body to contain.

“You?” Killua murmurs.

“What about me?” the voice says.

“You care?”

“Yes,” the voice says, with a strange hint of melancholy. “Probably the most of all of them, Killua. I care about you so much.”

Killua can’t help the smile, so slight and so tentative, that he feels spread across his face. He’d thought the best he could hope for was indifference. The best he’d get was simply to be spared any deliberate malice or violence or cruelty. But there seems to be more, if this soft voice is to be trusted. If he’s telling the truth, perhaps Killua will be touched again, and it won’t be meant to hurt. Perhaps Killua will still be spoken to so kindly and gently. Perhaps, even after the fever abates, someone will keep him company like this. Killua would like that. More than he can say. He would very much like to trust this voice, so soft and so tender and so perfectly, blissfully warm.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you sm for reading, my friends!!!!!! as usual, i am treasuring & replying to every comment & am available to holler at via [tumblr](https://storybookprincess.tumblr.com/)!!! i haven't reopened bingo requests quite yet but i'm at least thinking about it... take good care until i see you again!!!!! xo


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